


Higher Grounds

by lavender_euro505



Category: British Singers RPF, Dunkirk (2017), RPF - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Coffeeshop AU, F/M, Français | French, M/M, Modern AU, Newcastle University, OR IS IT, Pub AU, Swearing, Unrequited Crush, fluff & smut, text fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26823004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavender_euro505/pseuds/lavender_euro505
Summary: Tommy Mackenzie, a fourth year honours student, meets the French man of his dreams, but Camille, his coffeeshop co-worker, gives him tough competition. Luckily, his awkward British charm just *might* save him.
Relationships: Alex (Dunkirk)/Louis Tomlinson, Celeste Waite/Sam Fender, Collins/Farrier (Dunkirk), Gibson/Tommy (Dunkirk), Lorena & Kat, Peter/George (Dunkirk)
Kudos: 3





	Higher Grounds

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel of sorts to another work of mine called, “You Can Have Me”. You don’t need to read that first to understand anything here, but you can if you want. ;) I’m just expanding on the story since it was well received. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a fictitious work based on time spent at university in England. I do not own any persons described here, real or otherwise. This work is inspired from the characters in the movie Dunkirk (2017) and a host of other celebrities because they all have such great chemistry. 
> 
> Quote in the beginning comes from Peter Cameron’s book, “Someday This Pain Will Be Useful to You”.

When he was a teenager, Tommy had stumbled upon a book at his local library that had this to say about mornings: _“I wish the whole day were like breakfast, when people are still connected to their dreams, focused inward, and not yet ready to engage with the world around them.”_

Thinking about the quote now, he grumbles to himself as he steps off the bus to head to work. He somehow got handed the early morning shift at Higher Grounds, a popular coffee shop on a hill in Newcastle, England. He already had a full day of modules and seminars to attend, so he hardly looked forward to his four hour shift every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Dragging his feet, Tommy shuffles through the front door, a pungent smell hitting him straightaway. Almost a year in, he’s used to it by now. He greets his co-worker and neighbor, Youra, with a sleepy smile and a mumbled hello. 

Youra is only half sympathetic to Tommy’s aversions to mornings. He gives Tommy a helpless look as he does up his apron. The dark green matches his eyes; Youra is always low-key teasing him.

“Alright, then, Tommy?” Youra is speaking too loudly and nobody is even there yet.

Except for Irene, the cook. 

She pokes her head out from the kitchen and tips her head up at Tommy in a silent greeting. See, she got him. 

Youra goes back to clanging cups and making as much noise as possible without breaking anything. Tommy sends him a deadly look, fingers fumbling with the espresso machine, as the bell above the front door chimes. Tommy sighs. 

They both look up and see their first customer: an older man from Scotland named Addison who’d always come in at 7:05 am exactly and order the same thing every time - one small americano with a banana. He’d sit in the same place, too - an area near the front windows, where the morning sun was the brightest and the plants hanging nearby gave good company. Addison claimed it was the best spot in the whole shop. The staff couldn’t really disagree with him. 

“Alright, Addison? You look more awake than our Tommy here, eh?” Tommy sends Youra an exasperated look, making Addison chuckle. The Scotsman grins with a set of loose teeth, his sparse beard outlining his mouth. The man somehow had a perpetual tan. Louis was the same way. Drove Tommy up a wall - some people had it all. 

Tommy pours his americano.

“Tommy, lad,” Addison nods in his direction. “You need the night shift.” 

“Fat chance,” Tommy moans, with a pout. “I’m pretty sure Graham is our landlord’s evil twin. He knew I didn’t want the morning shift, yet…” He waves his arm. “Here I am.” 

Youra laughs, wagging a finger at him, “You’re like a human espresso, Tom. Short and bitter, eh.” 

“I’m not bitter! I’m just tired, mate. Tiring getting up in the morning, innit?” Youra and Addison, both wide awake, stare at him without one ounce of sympathy. 

Youra gestures for the drink in Tommy’s hand as Addison fishes out his usual cash payment. Youra leans forward against the counter conspiratorially toward Addison. 

“If he can convince Camille to switch shifts,” Youra tells him, taking Addison’s collection of coins, “then maybe he can sleep in.” 

Tommy stops just short of handing over the americano. “Wait, what?” 

Youra shrugs his shoulders, counting out Addison’s change. 

“Yeah, man. If you two switched, then you could work nights.” Tommy’s frozen in place trying to comprehend this new, exciting information. He’s still holding the americano and Youra has to release it from his grip before he notices. 

“So, I just convince Camille? And it’s mine?” Youra nods, his mouth turned down in a slight frown.

“Yeah, man, but good luck with that,” Youra looks up and smiles at Addison with a wide grin and thanks him for the tip. “Gonna be hard to sway her, though.” 

Youra’s lips go up into a sly grin, and Tommy isn’t sure what to make of that. He narrows his eyes suspiciously. 

“Why’s that then?” 

The shop doorbell rings and in walks three customers. Irene sticks her head out from the curtain separating the kitchen and coffee bar. 

“Well for one, mate, she’s hardly gonna give up her shift with French boy.” Tommy scrunches his nose. 

“With who?” 

“We got a new Frenchie, Youra?” Youra shakes his head, his dreads skimming his shoulders.

“Nah, Irene. They can’t have too many of us working at the same time. That’s why Graham schedules us with someone English.” 

Tommy turns to him, adjusting his apron. “I’m British.” Youra sends him a look, eyebrows raised. 

“Where you from, mate?” 

“Southwest London.” 

Youra waits.

Tommy sighs and says, “Richmond.” Youra clicks his teeth, smiling. 

“You as English as they come.” 

Two customers try to order their specialty brownies, but those are only baked on Tuesdays and Saturdays, so they take the organic CBD coffee instead. The other one gets a latte. They look half awake, so Tommy politely suggests something with more caffeine for next time. 

Tommy turns back to Youra after the orders. 

“So, this French guy and... Camille?” Youra nods, rolling his eyes. 

“It’s ridiculous, man. An absolute train wreck watching her flirt with him,” Youra chuckles to himself. “Louis tells me about it from time to time.” Louis is their other coworker who works the nightshift at Higher Grounds. He also lives with Youra in a flat, in the same building block as Tommy and his mates. 

“What’s his name?” 

“No idea, but he always comes in at night,” Youra lifts off the counter from leaning on it and swivels his body to face toward the seating area and nods to a space where two tables sat near the back corner. 

“He’s usually sat over there, tables pushed together, and papers everywhere,” Youra turns back to Tommy. “But Louis always says he’s proper nice and compliments the coffee.” 

“And compliments Camille, I imagine?” Youra clicks his teeth in response. It was all the confirmation Tommy needed. 

He knew the pretty, blond haired, doe-eyed French girl that applied a month ago would be a boon for the coffee shop, mostly employed with overworked and over caffeinated university boys. 

“He doesn’t really do it to flirt, I think. He’s just being friendly.” 

Tommy nods, not fully convinced. The French boy probably liked having someone around who spoke his native language, a familiar comfort in a cold, and sometimes, grim city. It wouldn’t surprise him if he saw them having daylight coffee dates while he was on the morning shift. He could almost imagine them secretly sneering at the baked goods they served and the coffee that could honestly be a little too milky, depending on who made it (Louis). He had his talents in the arena of tea and a bacon sandwich, though. 

“Speak of the bloody devil…” Tommy hears Youra say as a dark figure steps up to the counter. The person is speaking, but Tommy can’t make out a word of it. He’s speaking in French and Tommy wonders why, but then notices that he’s on his phone. The man dressed in a black overcoat, the collar up to cover his neck and ears from the brisk wind chill outside, ends his call and smiles up at Youra and Tommy with apologetic eyes. 

They’re a bright, almost watery green and honestly, that’s all Tommy can focus on. That, and the man’s mouth, out of which comes a string of French words that only Youra can understand. He hears Youra chuckle and replies in French. Tommy must be star struck because he can’t stop staring at the flush of red in the man’s cheeks and the dimple on the left side as he smiles at a joke Youra is probably telling him. _This must be him,_ Tommy suddenly realizes. This is probably That French Guy. 

“Tommy, can you get him an espresso, please?” The urgency in Youra’s voice sounds like it’s not the first time he’s asked and Tommy’s body seems to come back to himself and jolt into action. He jolts a little too hard and sends the open milk jug flying in an explosion of dairy, splattering across the front of his apron, his face, and his new Adidas trainers. It’s dripping on the floor, down the sides of the counter and across the top toward the banana display. 

Youra shakes his head at him for lack of words. The French Guy is shell shocked at the amount of milk everywhere. And Irene pops up at the sudden commotion, tsking at Tommy, and throws him a towel that hits him in the face.

“Fucking. Hell.” Tommy curses under his breath, the sickly sweet smell of whole milk overwhelming as he wipes his hands on the dry bits of his apron. He opens his eyes to see that The French Guy has his lips closed shut in an attempt not to laugh, but at this point, he can’t be blamed. _Great_ \- Tommy has officially made a fool of himself and had probably been caught staring. 

He hadn’t expected the mixture of sympathy and cheekiness that The French Guy was now sending his way, as Youra apologized for Tommy’s clumsiness. Whatever face Tommy was pulling now seemed to work in his favor, because The French Guy was observing him with a curious look and speaking to him in accented English.

“It is your first time?” Tommy’s eyebrows go up as he hears Youra cackling behind him, as Tommy looks up from drying himself off with the dry towel. Tommy can literally feel his ears go red. 

“No, er, not my first time, I just—” Tommy can hear himself swallow and his entire face feels like it’s on fire, but The French Guy’s not even laughing at him. In fact, the intensity of his stare stops Tommy dead in his tracks, rendering him absolutely speechless. A frisson of desire ripples through him. His Film Studies instructor would proud of him to have noted such a thrill, as Tommy struggles with the notion that this is life not film.

Tommy feels himself choke as he manages a strangled excuse, “I was just… distracted.” 

He was never the kind of person who was too impressed with good looks, but goodness this man was… captivating. His stare could probably cast spells.

The French Guy leans forward and Tommy’s not sure what color his face is but, he thinks he’s about to pass out. There’s still dried milk on his chin and he scratches it uncomfortably. The French Guy - _what was his name?_ \- smells like toasted marshmallows and leather. He’s not sure how it works, but it does for him.

“You didn’t drink coffee yet. You’re still sleeping,” The French Guy muses, his black tousled curls sweeping across the tops of his ears and just above his right eyebrow. What Tommy would give to push back that rebellious curl hanging just a centimeter lower than the others. Youra snaps his fingers. _Could the spell really be broken?_

“We need to wake you up.” He hears The French Guy say, his lilt soft and slightly scratchy, like woolen sweaters. Youra laughs, a booming sound, and Tommy just knows he’s about to say something rude. 

“Trust me, he’s up!” 

Tommy wants to pour the remaining milk jug over his head to douse the fire in his belly. 

French Guy is staring now and somehow it seems entirely appropriate. When Tommy does it, he’s just awkward, English boy number 1. 

Drink in hand, Tommy is sad to see him go as he sends another dimpled smile their way and ten quid as a tip on the counter. 

Youra throws another towel at him, which lands on his head, as he shuffles the mop bucket out of its corner. 

“You gonna stand there daydreaming or are you gonna clean this up?” Tommy blinks, in a daze. 

“Youra, was that…”

“Yeah, that was the French guy.” 

“I’ve got to switch shifts with Camille.” He swipes at his face one last time and Youra gives him a ‘you poor, white boy” look. 

_“Bonne chance, mon ami.”_

Thankfully, Tommy’s shift is over without further disaster, despite Irene and Youra both teasing him endlessly for getting flustered at French Guy. 

_French Guy…_ Tommy muses that afternoon as he tunes out his Film Studies lecture. Tommy hadn’t considered himself as having a type before, but it intrigued him to no end how the bloke looked at him. Imagine being on the receiving end of a stare like that! Tommy was surprised he’d managed to form words after that. 

The rest of the day goes by fairly quickly, so Tommy decides to have a quick coffee at a nearby Costa and devise a plan to oust Camille. He grabs a lonely spot near the windows and sips at his iced coffee, opening up his notes app. How could he convince her, he thinks. He’d need to be charming. Make a deal with her. Give her something in return. Well, he could be charming, right? 

“Fat chance on that, mate.” 

Youra. 

Tommy looks up from his drink, mid-sip, and rolls his eyes. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Tommy says, as Youra sits across from him, a smirk on his face. “Haven’t I seen enough of you today?” 

“Have you? I came to give you an update, but if you don’t want it...” Youra gets up, ready to leave and Tommy reaches out for his trackie sleeve. 

“Oi, wait! What update?” 

“That’s what I thought, English boy,” Your sits in the seat and leans back. “I heard from Louis that French boy is a post-grad.” 

“So?” 

“So, he must be older, right?” Tommy scoffs. _Like that matters, <\em> he tells himself. _

__

“Doesn’t matter.” He mumbles, sipping his drink petulantly. Youra shrugs and eyes the front counter like he wants to get something, too. 

__

“Just thought you might like to know. Since you’re the baby and all.” Youra swipes at Tommy’s tours led brown hair. “We’re brothers. Gotta protect you, eh.” 

__

The rest of the lads liked to tease him about that, too. Him, and Youra’s flatmate George, were the youngest in their friend group, both of them finishing up the last terms of their undergraduate degree. Somehow they’d gotten placed with other post-graduates when they returned to Uni after summer break, but luckily they all got on like wildfire so no one complained too much. Tommy figured they were scheduled that way because him and George were mature enough. At least that’s what he told himself. 

__

“Any more important updates?” Youra looks up from fishing around his bag for extra money. 

__

“Nah, Louis just said he only ever sees the guy at night. Rare he’d come in the morning.” 

__

Tommy lifts his shoulder, a dignified look to his face as he says, “Maybe he knew I’d be there, so he popped in.” 

__

Youra finds a fiver and raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. 

__

“Highly doubt it, mate, but nice try.” Youra leaves to buy a coffee, and Tommy is back at square one. So this morning was just an anomaly? What were the chances that he’d show back up again in the morning? What made today so different?

__

Tommy’s Wednesday morning shift came and went with no sign of The French Guy. His flatmates, Celeste, Kat, and Lorena stopped by for a caffeine refuel before their linguistics seminar and warned him that Alex was planning another quiz night for next week. Alex was a competitive bastard and pub quizzes were ruthless. 

__

“Tommy, wipe that grim look off your face, we’ve got customers, yeah?” Irene scolds. Youra shakes his head at Tommy’s sad attempt, which ends up as a pout more than anything. 

__

“Youra, what are the chances he’ll just show up Friday morning like he did on Monday?” 

__

Youra picks up the milk frother and shakes it in his direction.

__

“What are the chances you’ll throw milk everywhere?” Tommy groans, scrubbing the counter again for the thousandth time. 

__

“For fucks sake, it was an accident!” He slaps the counter at the memory and looks up at Youra expectantly. Youra raises an eyebrow at him. 

__

“You really wanna know?” Tommy nods, arms folded across his chest.

__

“One in a million, man. He’s never here in the morning. He’s like a vampire or something.” 

__

They were all wrong. 

__

At 7:05 am, Friday morning, Addison arrives carrying five books under his arm and a heavy looking backpack strapped across his chest. He ordered his usual americano with a banana and set up camp near the plants. 

__

Tommy rubs his tired eyes, sniffing back a sneeze from earlier. 

__

“Tom! Are you sick?” Irene yells at him, trying to get him to drink some orange juice. 

__

“Nah, Irene, just had a sneeze.” Tommy accepts the orange juice anyway. Irene shakes a capsule of powder at him, going on about vitamins and wearing warmer clothes. The orange concoction goes down a bit fizzy as he tries not to choke on the taste. He can hear Youra talking to someone on the other side of the kitchen curtain.

__

“Tommy, can I get another americano to-go?” Tommy pokes his head out of the curtain.

__

“Addison wants another americano? To go?” 

__

Youra gives him a look and nods at their next customer. 

__

_French Guy._

__

He looks like he just stepped out of a Le Homme magazine cover. His signature black overcoat was accented by an artfully haphazard scarf thrown over his shoulder and his dark brown hair curled delicately around his face. Tommy could just make out the shadow of a mustache and goatee combination that he never thought could look so sexy on a man. What really pulled the look together were the black framed sunglasses he wore. 

__

Tommy nearly sends his orange juice flying. 

__

“Ameri… cano. Er, yeah.” Tommy stammers, stumbling over himself to get to the front. He hears someone chuckling and he looks up just in time to catch The French Guy smiling at him. 

__

Did he come here just to be entertained by Tommy’s flustered antics? He considers it and finds he doesn’t really mind. 

__

“You come here often?” Are the words that come out of Tommy’s mouth as he makes the drink. He internally cringes at the question, already anticipating Youra having a laugh about it later. 

__

But, French Guy seems not to mind it. He moves closer to Tommy, on the other side of the counter, away from Youra.

__

“Only at night.” There’s a hint of a smile when he says it, and Tommy can’t help but stop what he’s doing to look up at him curiously. Shit, maybe he was a bloody vampire. 

__

“Oh, funny you’d be here in the morning, then.” Tommy laughs and feels like a right berk as French Guy just looks at him from behind those dark shades. _God, he probably thinks I’m a fucking idiot,_ he tells himself. He’s still preparing the americano, and as he’s scolding himself for taking ages pouring espresso and water together, The French Guy pulls out his phone and mumbles something to Siri in French, looks at Tommy, smiles, and then puts his phone away. 

__

Youra takes the americano, snaps the lid on French Guy’s drink and looks in Tommy’s direction as he apologizes, “Sorry for the wait. Have a good day!” French Guy gives them a silent nod and walks out the door, and just as his Chelsea boots make their way onto the pavement, Tommy is clutching the side of Youra’s sweater demanding answers.

__

“What was he saying to his phone? He smiled at me!” Youra rolls his eyes.

__

“You speak French, Tommy. You didn’t hear him?”

__

“I _study_ French. And it was too fast. Just tell me!” Youra sighs as Irene walks up to the counter to set out a fresh plate of regular brownies in front of them. 

__

“He said he was coming back.” Irene walks between them, scooping up random items as she does to take back to the kitchen. Tommy moves around her, practically chasing after Youra for more information.

__

“Coming back? Where? Here?” 

__

Youra shrugs. “Maybe? He said he needed to come back for coffee, mate. Could be here, could be the Waitrose down the street.”

__

Tommy pouts and Irene tells him to pick up his lip and get to work, before she shuffles back into the kitchen with her bounty. 

__

He really needed to get on the night shift. 

__

**********************************************

__

**Location: Higher Grounds Coffee Company**  
**Time: 15:36 pm**

__

**Tommy:** HELP emergency!!!!

__

**Alex:** what do you need now?

__

**Celeste:** are you ok? 

__

**Tommy:** yes, but no

__

**Kat:** is this you being dramatic or do you really need help?

__

**Tommy:** I NEED HELP, He KEEPS COMING HEre

__

**Lorena:** tmi lad

__

**Tommy:** no, you don’t understand

__

**Alex:** yes, we don’t. What happened?

__

**Tommy:** in the shop, he’s here getting coffee AGAIN 

__

**Kat:** *eye roll* Tom you work at a bleeding coffee shop what did you expect exactly? 

__

**Celeste:** right, who is he?

__

**Alex:** are you talking about the bloke you spilt hot milk over the other day? 

__

**Tommy:** FUCK yes, i almost forgot about that .. AND IT WAS COLD MILK

__

**Alex:** he come back to sue you for damages and emotional distress 

__

**Tommy:** he’s French not American thank you

__

**Lorena:** heyyy

__

**Kat:** wise up Lorena, yer Texan, doesn’t count does it? 

__

**Lorena:** damn, you right! 

__

**Kat:** ofc I am darling 

__

**Tommy:** anyway back to me, he’s here shhiiiit 

__

**Celeste:** where are you tho? How are u texting us at work? Lol 

__

**Tommy:** I’m on break 

__

**Alex:** probably hiding in the corner where all the big ass plants are, being a creep 

__

**Tommy:** shut up! Help me what do i say to him??

__

****

__

**Kat:** how about starting with sorry for being a knob and spilling hot milk on yous, here’s a free coffee coupon 

__

****

__

**Tommy:** -.- i didn’t actually spill the milk on HIM, just almost. And it was cold ffs

__

****

__

**Alex:** tell him something sexy in French

__

****

__

**Kat:** he aint that skilled mate

__

****

__

**Celeste:** aww i thought you were taking lessons???

__

****

__

**Tommy:** i start next week! But i wanna talk to him nw, oh shit he’s coming over here

__

****

__

**Lorena:** dude, just say hi

__

****

__

**Tommy:** my mouth won’t work

__

****

__

**Alex:** I beg to differ

__

****

__

**Kat:** goddd

__

****

__

**Tommy:** ALEX not now

__

****

__

**Lorena:** ya’ll are wild, i gotta go. Good luck on your boy, bud!

__

****

__

**Celeste:** @tommy, say hi, how are you? Good start yeah?

__

****

__

**Kat:** boOoooring Tom ask him what he’s doing after

__

****

__

**Tommy:** i don’t even know his name

__

****

__

**Alex:** then ask him you idiot!

__

****

__

**Tommy:** he’s walking over here!!!! To me

__

****

__

**Kat:** go get em tiger

__

****

__

**Alex:** tell him you wanna see his baguette

__

****

__

**Kat:** hahaha shit head

__

****

__

**Tommy:** he just smiled at me :)

__

****

__

**Kat:** oh ffs

__

****

__

**Celeste:** cuuuute

__

Tommy’s break is almost over, and he still has three more hours on his Friday shift. The French Guy came in just as he sat down near Addison’s usual spot and sadly, ordered something to-go. Lucky for Tommy, the man of dreams was walking right toward him. He’s three meters away and staring at Tommy like he’s coming over to relay dead serious information and all Tommy can do is say, “Alright?” And hope his voice doesn’t break. 

__

It does and he raises his hand to his mouth to clear his throat, but he fumbles as he does, and his phone starts slipping through his fingers. The next few seconds are tortuously long as Tommy and French Guy watch in shocked fascination as Tommy’s phone does acrobatics in the air despite Tommy’s attempts to keep from dropping it, but the damn thing is cursed. 

__

The phone leaps out of his hands and lands with a clatter an inch from The French Guy’s Chelsea boots. Tommy can feel his eyes grow wide as French Guy bends to pick it up. _Fuck, Fuck, Fuck._

__

The screen has gone dark - _thank god_ \- and shattered to shit - _for fuck’s sake_. French Guy offers him an almost pained look and Tommy’s not sure if it’s because of the phone or because of him. 

__

“I should enlist my phone into the circus, eh? Did you see the air it got?” Tommy’s laugh sounds like he’s dying. “Bloody trapeze artist.” French Guy tips the mangled phone back into Tommy’s hands, his eyebrows creased in confusion. 

__

“Circus?” 

__

“Yeah,” Tommy continues. “Y’know, it’d be a world-class act, this phone.” He waves it in the air, his face is a bright pink as French Guy just stares at him with the most baffled look on his face. For some reason, Tommy cannot stop talking. 

__

“Better yet, I should probably enlist too? For the circus. Maybe I could juggle. I’m actually an ace juggler,” he blows a raspberry and thinks back to a few seconds before. “Em, but for like round things. Y’know, like balls.” 

__

The sentence just hangs in the air, as dry as Tommy’s throat, as he watches the man of his dreams tip his head to one side, like he’s considering calling for a medic to see if Tommy is suffering from a serious head injury. That’s when he also sees Camille’s blond head pop up on the other side of French Guy’s shoulder. 

__

“Cou cou!” She clutches French Guy’s arm and kisses his cheek in greeting. 

__

“Camille, d’you want to switch shifts with me? I’ve got loads of coursework in the mornings now. It’d be a big help.” Tommy is rooted to his spot as she twitches her lips upward, like she’s considering it. Then she looks at French Guy and says, “But then who’d make _ma amour_ his nightly coffees?” Tommy can’t help but roll his eyes. 

__

“I would, obviously.” 

__

Camille giggles at that, like it’s funny. 

__

“Eh, then, _non!_ ” She offers Tommy a fake, crinkled smile and before French Guy can call 999 for Tommy’s shattered heart, they’re both gone and out the door. 

__

Tommy needs a new plan - a better fucking tactic. 

__

“A fucking circus, man? What are you on? You have the bad hash again?” Youra is standing now where French Guy stood, looking at Tommy like a disappointed mother. Tommy looks up, head in his hands. 

__

“Yeah, sign me up ‘cos I’m the biggest berk of them all.” 

__


End file.
